


Tomorrow Then

by Links6



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Anxiety Attacks, Depression, F/M, Female Hange Zoë, Fluffy Ending, Hange is spelled Hanji sorry, Heavy Angst, Hugs, Inspired by Music, Levi (Shingeki no Kyojin) Needs a Hug, Out of Character, Sensory Overload, Suicidal Thoughts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-08
Updated: 2020-03-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:33:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,402
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23069281
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Links6/pseuds/Links6
Summary: The problem with depression is... you never know that that's what you have, until you're in too deep to get out.Levi's trying to deal with life after the death of Farlan and Isobel.
Relationships: Hange Zoë & Levi, Hange Zoë/Levi
Comments: 3
Kudos: 97





	Tomorrow Then

**Author's Note:**

> Inspired by Touch from Sleeping at Last.  
> Major triggers : suicidal thoughts, depression.

They describe depression as a sadness, a pit of melancholy that is possible to navigate as the ruins in the underground.

They equate it to the colour grey or blue, depending on their own personal views. As if the colour grey, however silver it is, does not sheen in the sunlight. Like the colour blue does not fill the sky every morning.

They don’t understand.

Tomorrow would bring another day. Yes, another day of pain and emptiness and being so exhausted to his bones that he’d gladly sleep for the rest of his lifetime.

Their advice to ‘’cheer up’’ lies in the dichotomy of truth. They surmise the antidote to the pit of despair is a day of joy, punctuated by laughing and smiling faces.

And Levi has witnessed it. He’s well accustomed to smiling faces. The faces of Farlan and Isobel reflects in the laughter of the corps that surrounds him at the dinner table. He witnesses the acts of kindness from his comrades as they offer him coffee in the morning, though it’s never as strong as Farlan used to make.

Hanji sits too close, much like Isobel used to and it makes him tired. Tired of this closeness. Tired of the lack of space. Tired of boundaries. Tired of walls. He hates it in the walls more than he hates being stuck underground with no sunlight but with the company of friends from which he’d now been eternally stripped away from.

It’s a month. The moon tells him so. Ever changing whilst the pit in his chest seems to keep crushing him no matter what he uses to try and fill the void.

It’s five in the morning when Hanji starts knocking on his door, asking him to walk with her to discuss the latest information she’d discovered from the titans.

He hadn’t slept well, so he gets up and follows easily. He’s exhausted but his body, seemingly, no matter how much sleep it gets remains pained and exhausted.

So, they sit on the wall and drink weak jasmine tea.

He recognizes the package but the flavour isn’t there. Probably too weak and hadn’t been steeped long enough.

They discuss information for some time as the sun rises and starts covering the landscape in light. It’s too bright, it stings his eyes and he excuses himself inside.

That night she insists that the fireplace is the only place she can concentrate at night and that the cookies dusted with sugar and hot cacao is what keeps her focused. She’s propped up several unnecessary pillows as well.

It seems out of place, he can’t seem to remember that she had liked this kind of setup before. The gesture is lost within the disarray of his mind and he simply allows himself to resign to his current predicament.

He sighs and sits quietly by as she rambles on and on and on.

“Levi?” Hanji says, noticing his disinterest.

He looks over and hopes she’ll let him leave in peace.

“Should I turn the music off?” she asks, a quiet concerned look rests on her usual smiling features, “I thought you might like it, it’s Eric Satie’s sym-‘

He shrugs, disinterested. He’s quite sure either he’s losing his hearing or something, there was no music at all, “Whatever…” he answers tiredly.

The plans are made, the garrisons start training again and life in the barracks stay the same.

Nothing has changed for the most part.

Platitudes and grateful commemorations are all that seem to find his ears and at times he feels like he’d rather have no sound at all. How lovely it could be to be isolated from sight and sound. How liberating it could be. How he could finally escape the pain.

The chefs also seemed to carry on as normal, yet all their cooking seems to have lost their edge and flavour. It was disgraceful.

And infuriating.

And draining.

He sleeps more. More than he should. More than he needs. But, once he opens his eyes, he’d much rather close them again.

He sleeps some more until Hanji wakes him up for breakfast. She sits too close again and starts to discuss their training for the new recruits.

It doesn’t matter.

No matter what they do.

It doesn’t matter, because they’ll lose.

They’ll lose and die.

The idea of pursuing a life of never-ending failures makes him hate being awake even more.

He finds himself finding an odd agreeableness to fatalistic humour he never had before. He indulges himself to the thought that, yes, it does seem like a good idea, _doesn’t it? Why not?_

What if he didn’t have to burden himself with any more tomorrows?

Why _NOT._

Levi pushes the table away after Hanji insists he take at least one bite of his scrambled eggs. He gets up and leaves. In the back of his mind, he’s sure Erwin would insist he apologize, but when night falls and no order comes, he’s both relieved and angry, but he’s not sure why.

He ends up sleeping in his uniform that night and at sunrise, he’s still awake. Hanji hadn’t come around to harass him.

He waits for another hour before he gets up, sighs and makes his way to their usual spot. She’s not there either.

He takes a seat and sighs. Both relieved and frustrated again. Irritated and empty.

The sun slowly rises up and he’s hazily aware of how slowly life returns to the world. He’s sure the morning trumpet must be blaring its wake-up call but all he hears is an off-key blare in the distance. A few moments later he sees the new recruits jogging around the camp, he’s sure it must be cold outside as they’re all wearing their winter jackets.

He sighs deeply, seeing the sweep of fog escape his mouth and disappear in the air.

He looks at his arms, sees the goosebumps and sighs. He can’t feel it though. 

He can’t feel the cold.

He can’t feel anything.

He wishes he didn’t feel _anything at all_.

He’s aware how the moisture of the air seems to sting his eyes. It _has_ to be sun’s glare, he’s sure. He blinks, blinks again, faster. The moisture gathers more and the sunlight starts to drift in his tears.

The scratches his leather gloves leave on his face burns as he furiously tries his best to wipe them away. It keeps coming. Over and over and over again.

He finally yanks the gloves off and throws them as far as he can, but they flip unsatisfactorily quiet against wall of the turret. He follows it up with his cravat. But the frustration he hoped to rid himself of only built more with the soft impacts they made. It didn’t feel _enough._ It wasn’t _enough. IT WASN’T GOOD ENOUGH._

He pauses when the words echo in his mind.

The warmth and anguish swirling in his chest suddenly pulled back together with a thread of rationale… he was angry.

He swallows hard, breathing heavily as he stares at his discarded cravat and gloves. Pain seizes in his chest and he tastes metal on his tongue. _Adrenaline –_ he realizes, running his tongue over his teeth and somehow the iron calms him.

He takes a breath and coughs, suddenly aware of how his nose and eyes were still both watering. He coughs again, stands determinedly and grabs his clothes. He drops his face into his familiar clothes, trying to calm his breathing as best he could. He can feel his breaths coming in short bursts, never slowing. Haze starts to fill his eyes and static noise fills his ears as his vision darkens slowly.

The steady grip that suddenly harshly grabs his shoulders and forces him backwards, makes him gasp harder.

“It’s me – you’re okay,” the voice answered strongly, slowly guiding him down to sit on the crates behind him, “Sit… _sit… like that… okay._ ”

He’s half-aware there’s a whistle to his panting now, the razor edge of the air cuts his throat as he tries to take a breath.

“You’re hyperventilating; your system is deprived of carbon dioxide right now. You’ll pass out if you keep breathing this fast,” strong words break through the high pitched whistling that’s filling his ears, “Give me your hand- Now.”

He doesn’t question it.

His palm hits a solid surface.

“This hand,” a hard pat follows his hand that was no longer clutching his cravat but now extended out, “Hot or cold?”

He tries to focus his thoughts. He shakes his head and groans, shaking once more.

“ _FOCUS.”_

He spreads his stiff fingers, suddenly aware of the heat beneath his fingertips, “H… Hot… ”

“What do you hear?” the voice commands, sounding more concerned now. Somehow more feminine and less hollow than before.

“What do you want-”

“Tell me!”

He hears the static noise as blood rush in his ears. He hears his heartbeat frantically drumming against his skull. He listens harder. There has to be something. Something. _ANYTHING_.

A screech pierces through the roar of his ears and he looks up, blinking painfully.

The shadow of the eagle passes over him before the silhouette darts across the sky, distorted still by his tears. It screeches again and sweeps up. He feels his shoulders drop. He feels his heartbeat slowly drift back into silence.

He feels a pressure against his hand increase and he looks down. Hanji’s hands here covering his own on the centre of her chest, “Good. Just like that. Breathe.”

He does.

She grabs hold of his hand and sighs, looking both concerned and slightly amused, “Okay.”

Levi peers at her for a moment before looking at his cravat again, grimacing, “… sorry.”

She blinks. Surprised and elated at once. It had been the first time in weeks he had spoken first without being asked a question or request.

She nods.

The silence fills the void between them, but somehow, it felt a bit less oppressive than before. A little less devoid of light. They breathe slowly together for a while, the air slowly warming round them.

“I brought tea, but… ” she mumbled awkwardly, “if you don’t want it…”

The hesitation was clear and certainly a new territory to the scientist. Her sure and confident steps were controlled and measured now. The events of the previous morning were seared into her mind, her once reckless decisiveness now wavered under the unsteady gaze of her friend.

He nods, words still draining to him.

They sit together once more, drinking tea as the early morning lingers on. They ended up sharing the one mug, as the other broke after the hasty drop of the tray when Hanji had noticed Levi’s state.

The taste was a bit better though, Levi notes, handing the cup over. The tea was certainly strained longer than all the other times. He nods to himself, pauses halfway through the last sip, noting Hanji’s gaze.

“You’re… you look like you like the tea, at least?”

“It’s stronger than usual.”

For a moment the confusion glazed over her eyes, before realization hit. She always made her tea exactly the same… for Levi to had said that… it meant he was starting to regain his sense of taste, at least.

“I did make it stronger than usual,” she nods happily as she lies.

He nods, finishing it off. The corner of his lips twitch a bit as he revels in the taste once more.

She _smiles_. It seems like years ago he'd seen her smile like that. So ... _content._

All at once he feels the pressure of her arms around him, her perfume a subtle note of spice and honey. He feels the warmth.

And just like that, the warmth of her hands floods through his system, the heat twisting and piercing through his veins.

Chaos and scattered nerves and energy that had long reigned his mind, stilled.

The noise, a constant buzz of anxiety and pain and regret that accompanied his existence, disappeared.

The constant ringing that had plagued his senses, the incessant tremble that consumed his body, it all hushed under her soft touch.

He can suddenly taste the sweet jasmine after-taste on his tongue, the lingering warmth that belies in his mouth and makes him swallow thickly.

He feels the warmth of the sun, slowly seeping into his skin. He shivers.

The colours around him saturate in hues and intensity, suddenly becoming so vivid and contrasting it makes his eyes burn. He blinks. Breathes. Blinks again, his vision twisting and distorting as tears gather once more.

The soft background discord of blaring, slowly drew from their dissonant state into chords of bright and hopeful trumpet notes. A symphony for the Wings of Freedom. The notes, so familiar, makes him ache in a way he was sure he'd forgotten how.

He's suddenly aware that his hand is trembling, burst of shivers run through his fingertips and inadvertently makes him tap repeatedly and successively against the teacup still in his other hand. His unwraps his arms from her form and sits back. He quickly sets the mug down and grasps his cravat once more, trying to ground himself once more.

This time, russet eyes that seek out his own, brings his world back into focus.

Like an anchor to the earth he feels his jaw relaxes instinctively and how his shoulders free themselves of their own self-attained burden.

She doesn’t say anything, only notices the differences as his body slowly seems to breaks out of its own shell. She can only watch as he slowly sits up straighter, his expression slowly relaxes, how his hand relaxes its grip on his cravat and, instead, takes up hers instead.

“Thank you,” he says, his words weighted with his soul’s depth of gratitude.

“Yea, I know you like tea, so no big deal,” she answers off-handedly, shifting her gaze to the skies. Her kind of reckless assurance and flippant response giving him space to either breathe or simply allow him space to regain back his own confidence.

He can’t help but feel the immense gratitude and respect for her grow. She _knows_ but doesn’t comment. She _sees_ but doesn’t call it out. She _understands_.

“Still needs work,” he says and silently hopes she’ll indulge him a bit more.

“Of course, but we’ll have to make this a regular thing then,” she answers, smiling a bit.

“That’s fine with me.”

“Tomorrow then?”

“Yeah, tomorrow.”


End file.
